


Scars

by volare_via



Category: Dangan Ronpa, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: It's consensual I promise, M/M, Scars, implied sex, souda's just a crybaby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 20:01:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volare_via/pseuds/volare_via
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some people are proud of their scars. Some aren't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scars

Souda’s hair felt like straw between my fingers. The fucker must have bleached the shit out of it and dyed it multiple times. Hair was bound to lose its silky texture if you didn’t treat it right. My family told stories of people who tried to change their identities but didn’t take proper care of their hair, and so people could tell it had been dyed and they got found out. Nothing good ever happened to those people. Souda was a fucking idiot. I curled my hand more tightly into his hair.

The hideous yellow jumpsuit was puddled on the floor across the room, but he still wore his white undershirt. For some reason he had thrown a big fucking fit when I tried to take it off, so I rolled my eyes and let him keep it on, but it was starting to ride up now and I could see the pale skin of his lower back. Not just skin, though. It almost looked like . . .

I tried to push his shirt up further to get a better look, but Souda’s hand came out of nowhere and grabbed my wrist.

“Oi--”

“D-don’t,” he whimpered into the pillow. I felt a muscle twitch above my eye.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t fuckin’ hear you.” I yanked on his hair, pulling his face off the bed and tilting his head back. I could see his eyes starting to water. “Did you just tell me what to do?”

“Please,” Souda gasped. His nails were digging into my forearm and his other hand was white-knuckled in front of him as he gripped his sheets.

From the angle of his arm, he didn’t have the leverage to stop me, so I pushed his shirt up anyway. A wide, dark scar ran from his right hip all the way to his left shoulder. It was faded, probably several years old, but it must’ve come from a pretty serious injury to be this visible after so long. As I looked closer, I saw that there were a couple shorter, lighter scars running beside it in the same direction.

“What the fuck?”

Souda hadn’t let go of my wrist. The persistent little shit was still trying to pull my hand off his back. Scars were nothing new to me. So many people came to my house sporting fresh stab or gunshot wounds, and we had to take their clothes off to get them patched up. Whatever they had come to see us for was never their first injury, although sometimes it was their last. But they were always covered with other scars. Circular scars. Short scars. Raised scars. I even had a few of my own. I’d never seen one like this before, though.

“What the fuck happened?”

“I--nn--don’t wanna talk about it.”

Whatever. I let go of his hair and pulled his shirt down. Secrets were nothing new to me, either. He stuck his face back in his fucking pillow and covered his head with his arms. Something stirred in my chest, and I thought maybe I should say something, but I’m pretty shitty at the whole sympathy thing. I can do distractions, though. I dug my fingers into his hips and adjusted myself until his silence gave way to loud moans.

Part of me hoped the room was soundproof, but most of me didn’t really give a shit. If anyone heard us, what would they say? I can do whatever the fuck and whoever the fuck I want.


End file.
